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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517853">Friends You Don't Know Yet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwijelly/pseuds/kiwijelly'>kiwijelly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventures in Moral Philosophy, Also Not Sasha, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Because Stranger, But She is Trying to Learn, Canon Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Canon-Typical The Stranger Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Comedy of Errors, Crack Treated Seriously, Dreams and Nightmares, Dubious Morality, Eldritch Mutualism, Episode: e034 Anatomy Class (The Magnus Archives), Episode: e074 Fatigue (The Magnus Archives), Except Sasha, Exhaustion, F/F, Food Metaphors, Gen, Heart Attacks, Human Monster Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Jan Novak Does Not Understand Boundaries, Jan Novak is Shaped Like a Friend, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has Self-Esteem Issues, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist is Bad at Self-Care, Let Lydia Sleep Challenge, Literal Heart Massage, Lydia Halligan Lives, M/M, Magical Realism, Monster POV, Multiple Pov, Not Season Five Compliant, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Probably Not How The Fears Work, Reality Bending, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Self-Indulgent, She/Her Pronouns for Jan Novak, Sorry Sasha, That Also Pays Rent, The power of friendship, Though Not As Much As Lydia, Timeline Divergence, Under-Negotiated Redecorating, What's the Opposite of a Sleep Paralysis Demon, World's Friendliest Home Invasion, because monsters, but only mentioned, cooking as a love language, lighter and softer, not sorry about that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:02:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwijelly/pseuds/kiwijelly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where Lydia Halligan lives long enough to give her statement directly, she meets a stranger on the train. A very Strange stranger.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lydia Halligan/Jan Novak, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. When Your Legs Give In and Your Lungs Give Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Is that... a tape recorder?”<br/>“Yes. My apologies, I know it's somewhat archaic, but...”<br/>“It's alright. I'm glad... I'm not imagining it... like the worms on the front step.”<br/>“Oh... those are also real. We have a bit of an infestation.”<br/>“They're not right, you know. You should send them away.”<br/>“We're trying, believe me. Are you quite sure you're well enough to...”<br/>“I need to tell someone, and I don't think I can hold a pencil steady.”<br/>“Very well. Statement of Lydia Halligan regarding... her insomnia. Statement taken directly from subject 12th June, 2016. Statement begins.”</p><hr/><p>“Is that all, Ms. Halligan?”<br/>The woman simply stares ahead, eyes glassy.<br/>“Ms Halligan?”<br/>She blinks, twice, then jerks her head up like she has only just remembered he is there. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I... am a little … tired today.”<br/>“Tim? Would make you sure Ms. Halligan catches her train? She's not feeling very well.” Normally he'd send Martin, who seems to get actual pleasure out of fussing over people. Of course, given Martin's level of competence and Lydia Halligan's current lucidity, she would probably have ended up on a bus to Aberdeen before the day was over.<br/>The inevitable invoice for a coffee date will be Accounting's problem, but Tim will get her home in one piece.<br/>He continues his narration: “Statement Ends. Michael is a common enough name, however, the parallels with Sasha's experience cannot be overlooked. If this is the same character he appears, if not malicious, purposefully obtuse. Sasha has reported disturbed sleep since the... incident with Timothy Hodge, but given the traumatic nature of that encounter, that is not surprising. I will have to compare this statement with her recollections. At this time, she is currently occupied with one of our other visitors.”</p><hr/><p>“I saw one of them today, on the train.” the old man sobs.<br/>Sasha nods, wondering how long Martin's going to be with the bloody tea.</p><hr/><p><br/>Tim is back far sooner than he should be.<br/>“Insisted she was fine on her own,” he reports. “Made sure she boarded. Says she expects to be home by the evening, but to call her, since she'll forget.”<br/>Jon raises an eyebrow. “You got her number?”<br/>Tim grins. “Purely professional reasons, Boss. Besides, tired as she is, I doubt she remembers what I look like. Bad foundation for a relationship.”</p><hr/><p>“She'd changed her hair and her clothes and her eyes but I could tell. I could tell.”<br/>“Of course, sir. If you're not feeling up to a statement today, perhaps I can call you a cab?”</p><hr/><p><br/>The Understudy is having a good day. What a surprise to run into her favorite professor! She's too shy to ask him how he likes the gift they all put so much work into, but she follows him when he moves train cars, drinking in his nervous glances. So generous, even when he no longer has the obligation to feed her! He rushes out of the station so fast she rather loses sight of him, though, and she can feel the Eye's Gaze close and prickling on the back of Jan's neck. She must be near one of its Temples.</p><p>All the Understudies are the results of a little collaborative project between the Circus and the Shaper of Meat and Bone, when dear Nicky was looking for sponsors, but the Eye was not friendly like the Flesh is. Nicki ended up being unsatisfied with the model- too solid and unchanging, she says, too slow to learn their role, but she lets them run about and they will dance in the premier, though not as the principle dancers. It's just a framework, of course, and Nikki can and will change the bits she doesn't need, but it's nice, waiting in the wings, making up their own lines, their own bones. The Understudy just wishes the Others wouldn't copy her so often, which is a silly wish, because copying is what Strangers do, and they share absolutely everything. Except the Understudy has things she does not want to share, and she's been more on her own, lately.<br/><strong>She</strong>, <strong>she</strong> fits best... enjoys playing Jan Novak. The skirt is the beginning of it, but just today she has acquired a Dress with Buttons, and even a Jumper. It is a light blue, just like the sky never is in London, but might be in Poland, where Jan's name is from even if she (<strong>she</strong> is right, she's almost sure) is not. There is an animal depicted on it (Jan believes it to be a cat, but it could also be any representative of the weasel family) It is wearing an improbably tall hat.<br/>The Understudy hopes to one day attain Hats of her own, and she cannot have things of her own as long as she lives with the Others. She could move into someone's place at any time, of course, but that would mean not Being Jan anymore. It is, as humans say, a bite of the pickle.<br/>When summer comes and the campus empties, Jan rides the Underground. The screaming metal chambers are a wonderful venue, captive audiences under unnatural fluorescent lights. The Stranger isn't fond of the Buried that always crowds so close here, restrictive as it is, all still and cold and the opposite of surface, but busking is a fine way to pick up a snack and the graffiti can be very creative. Even the dread that flares up when she tells them she's performing is a fine aperitif, and as the train doors shut behind her and they realize they're stuck until the next station, and then the train grinds to a halt...<br/><strong>Delicious.</strong><br/>Jan waits on the station platform, but Professor Elliott does not reappear. A little clump of people shuffle past, and the Understudy thinks she catches a note of her kind of terror among them, a heart beating fastfastfast and stumbling over itself. A late tea seems just the thing to drive away Jan's disappointment, and the bored commuters are clearly in need of some variety in their lives, hardly glancing at each others' faces and hands and lovely variations in shape and size and color, even though each is a performance they will never attend again. Jan must give them something special. One of her new solo ventures, never before seen!<br/>But what should it be? Talented Bones, or Infinite Nose Fish, or Organ Shuffling, though that could be quite messy. What about The Bottomless Pit Lined With Teeth? Except it will not work, as she does not have a hat.<br/>Perhaps a rehearsed scene is better! Deposed Warlord's Mistress in Front of a Firing Squad never fails to have the Others in stitches, especially when she lands the ending, but Birthday Cards for a Wire Mother will probably make best use of the space.<br/>She's so wrapped up in Choosing that she doesn't notice the carriage emptying around her until the doors shut and the train begins to scream as the breaks un-seize. If she'd been paying attention, she'd have closed off the exits first, but perhaps stage fright is getting the best of her after all.<br/>There's one human passenger left, a woman in an outfit Jan knows from magazines is for jogging in cold weather. Her skin is in terrible shape and her lipstick is smeared. Nickie would not approve. She has bruised circles under her bloodshot eyes. Eyes that focus on Jan as she dances, so she must be doing something right. <br/>“How do you make your voice do that?” she asks, when Jan has finished one of her Impressions and has assured her that yes, this is happening. “And your face?”</p><p>There's fear (anxiety, shyness, exhaustion) in those eyes, but there's also wonder. She actually claps, hands clumsy and trembling. Jan graces her with an encore.</p><p>It's so nice when people take an interest in Jan's work.</p><p>The woman is called Lydia. The Understudy adores learning new things, had even before they were bestowed with a Name, and aside from the first time which went A Bit Wrong, they are very good at it. Jan, especially, takes to University Life well, slipping into it like a second skin. She learns to read. You cannot scare a book, but you can find out all sorts of interesting things from it. Libraries are also excellent places to find someone to rehearse with. There is a certain sort of mind which when involved with a book lets the rest of reality drop away, and those minds are so very easy to draw into a dance. (just short sketches, she's not ready for center stage, and improv can be exhausting for amateurs). She even makes a Friend in the library! Her very first! They are Of the Web, and call themselves Ptolemy. Ptolemy suggests she not tell the others about where and how she is feeding, or she will have to share. Jan has had to share the skirt, even though the others hadn't thought of it before she'd worn it.</p><p>Lydia has hallucinated before, she says, and how kind of her, to talk to Jan without knowing she is there! Jan says so. Lydia replies that she decided very early she should be polite, at least, because even Terrible Visions That Might Not Be There have feelings.<br/>“Do we?” Jan asks, and Lydia laughs, high and joyless, and Jan is <strong>smitten</strong>.<br/>And then that laugh catches somewhere inside and Lydia slumps over and that won't do because Jan is not done with her show.</p><hr/><p><em>Follow-up</em><br/>Recorded by Jonathan Sims, Archivist at the Magnus Institute, September 23rd, 2016<br/><em>Lydia Halligan suffered a heart attack on the way back to her apartment, and has been unavailable for contact up until this past week due to her hospitalization. She is recovering well after making several lifestyle changes and has had no more interactions with this 'Michael'. She was unable to produce any of her notebooks, saying her flatmate, who Martin describes as 'Perfectly Nice, really' which means she's probably some sort of serial killer- that was a </em>joke<em>, Elias, no need for another follow up- had disposed of them with her permission. Said roommate, whose name Martin </em>failed<em> to record, described their contents as 'A lot of swirly maths' that 'make the eyes go funny”.</em></p><p><em>Supplemental</em>.</p><p><em>Someone is following me. It's not anyone I know, but I'm sure I've seen the same silhouette out of the corner of my eye no less than three separate times leaving the institute, only for it to vanish when I look directly at it. There have been other things, a hand on my shoulder when I am alone, my name called in a crowd. Not that someone calling out “Jon” is exactly rare, especially in an English speaking country, but I know somehow that it's </em>my name<em>, not anyone else's. This could be simple paranoia, or a result of poor sleep following trauma, but given the fate of my predecessor I must stay vigilant. I will ask Elias for access to the institute's CCTV footage.</em></p><hr/><p><em>A little over two months prior- London Underground</em><br/>Lydia wakes up- did she sleep?</p><p>Lydia doesn't sleep.</p><p>She is lying on hard plastic. Her hoody- no jacket, buttons are too difficult these days, far too difficult – is open, her blouse is pulled down, and there's a stranger with an arm sunk up to the elbow in her chest.<br/>Not down her blouse. <em>In her chest.</em></p><p>The way their skins merge is like the process for making plastic, two disparate colors becoming something new and malleable. The stranger pours themselves into her. She feels thin hard fingers around her heart and she pictures a hand stripped to the bone, muscle merging with muscle and peeled away like a sleeve as the skeletal digits plunge past her sternum and ribs. The fingers squeeze rhythmically, rapidly.</p><p>There's a Queen song ringing in her ears, <em>dust</em> and <em>blood</em> like she can taste on her teeth, but she's not wearing her earbuds, and anyway, she only has meditation music.</p><p><br/><strong>"Don't worry,"</strong> says the stranger, smiling with too many too perfect teeth.</p><p>
  <strong> "<em>I took a class</em>."</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. In Which There Is A Monster Under The Bed (And Then Another)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Distortion comes to call. CW Weird formatting choices. Spiral + Stranger</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>June 12<sup>th</sup> 2016 – Day of Lydia Halligan's Statement</p><p>It is the nature of the Stranger to Know More Than A Stranger Should, so the Understudy makes sure the kind people who come for Lydia know about how she cannot sleep, and the things she loses, and her poor overworked heart. They stick her full of things that might help, and put her in a bed, and then another, quieter bed surrounded by machines that the Understudy does not touch. The Understudy is playing Jan, and Jan is playing Lydia's Flatmate who is her emergency contact in London and is Allowed to be There instead of in the waiting room. There is food in the waiting room, but Jan is not hungry, and anyway, most of it belongs to the End, or That Which Burns, or The Crawling Rot.</p><p>She's never much liked the taste of despair.</p><p>She doesn't like being an Audience, either, she thinks as she watches the kind people rush from place to place, too busy to glance at the Stranger by Lydia's side.</p><p>Jan stays, because no one sees her well enough to ask her to leave, and eventually it is the two of them. Jan slides to the floor and gets to work.</p><p>Becoming Lydia's Reflection is not difficult, even without a mirror. Jan simply lies beneath the hospital bed a few inches off the ground, back flush with the mattress, and whispers a bedtime story she almost remembers as the machines gossip back and forth about what Lydia's insides are up to. Eyeballs roll behind their lids and lashes flicker as Jan pushes Lydia deeper into herself, but Lydia does not open her eyes and the machines do not complain. Falling to sleep is not an easy routine to master; to get the breathing and the chemical releases and the slowing down without stopping, but it is an important part of playing human, and by now the steps are rote. When she feels her Audience is properly, peacefully asleep, Jan lets her own eyes fall open. Instead of the scuffed linoleum she expects there is a door.</p><p>It is Yellow.</p><p><em>A trapdoor?</em> Jan wonders. <em>It certainly feels like a trap. </em>She knocks, because that is what people do. The door...</p><p>Opens is a serviceable word. Peels is another. It is no longer shut, and that is the important thing.</p><p>"Hello!" Jan says.</p><p>The Thing that is of the Door but not a door stares at her. It looks like a person, but not the way Jan looks like a person. Not the way real people look like people either. Perhaps It is out of practice.</p><p>“Sh<em>e</em>'s <strong>empty</strong>, you know, little Str<em>a</em><strong>ng</strong>er,” says what <strike>stands</strike> <strike>reclines</strike> <em>lurks</em> in the doorway. “Ther<em>e</em>'s nothing left <em>to take</em>.”</p><p>Jan does not tell It she is not here to take. She does not think It would understand. It is not built for understanding.</p><p>“I'm Flesh, as well,” she points out. “It's a waste, isn't it? There's meat on those bones. Anyway, why would you care?”</p><p>“<strong>I don't</strong>. <em>Not </em>at<em> al</em>l, but she w<em>as</em> fun while s<strong>h</strong>e las<strong>t</strong>ed. I<em>'d </em>rather she End pr<em>op</em>er<em>ly, </em>now she's u<em>s<strong>e</strong>d</em> up<em>.</em> H<em>owe</em>ver... I<strong> don't <span class="u">really</span> c</strong>a<strong>re wh<em>at</em> I want </strong>e<strong>it</strong>h<strong>er.</strong> A<em>n</em>d I <span class="u">ha</span>ve <strong>a</strong> ne<em>w</em> meal <em>pic</em>ke<em>d</em> o<strong>u</strong>t, an<em>yw</em>ay. <strong>Goodbye, Jane</strong>.”</p><p>“It's Jan.”</p><p>“I<em>t I</em><strong>s</strong><em>n</em>'<em>t.</em>”</p><p>And It Laughs and J a n ...</p><p>Is there a word for stumbling while staying perfectly still?</p><p>That which calls itself Jan Novak's laugh might not be the most convincing, but it is far more real (a better fake) than this. The laugh of It is Not What It Is is like Lydia's laugh, empty of joy and so, so tired, and unlike it, and it sings in themherhimit like steam sings through pipes, forced, hot, scalding.</p><p>Shehetheyit laughs in return, not in imitation exactly, but in response. Shetheyit is of the Stranger but here-in lie deceptions more layered and complex than any the Circus erects and tears down in preparation for the next act. Shetheyit wants to, shetheyit longs to, shetheyit <em>laughs</em>, and the laughter is theirherits <em>own</em>, and theyshe is weeping real tears as the lies of Language and Sense and Outside and In, as the Knowing of names and nameless things drill themselves into her being.</p><p>Into Jan's being.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She is Jan Novak. She is she. She is flesh and blood and bone and skin all wrapped around a who and she is something far more than what she is made for. Doors are to faces as masks are to rooms and as she whirls, occupies dimensions and corridors and patterns of light, she Knows as Strangers never do that this is Dancing. Making and unmaking, hands and feet and fingers all wrong all changing all glorious.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span class="u">The StrangerFleshAbominationChild catches Its not hands and pulls and</span>
</p><p>
  <em>The thing</em>
</p><p>
  <em> that </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>is not</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Michael, </em>
</p><p>
  <strike> <em>(but is closer to </em> <em>being Michael </em> <em>than it is many other things)</em> </strike>
</p><p>
  <em> considers </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It has </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Quite unexpectedly)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>twisted </em>
</p><p>
  <em>something</em>
</p><p>
  <em>into </em>
</p><p><em>a new </em> <em>shape. Found</em></p><p><em> the angel </em> <em>in the stone- (and had there been another Michael? Another sculptor long ago, who spoke of such things?)</em></p><p><em>Not </em> <em>since </em></p><p>
  <em>Its near</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Becoming, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>since </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It lost</em>
</p><p>
  <em> the Worker in Clay and his Fellows, </em>
</p><p>
  <strike> <em> Honey, where you been so long?</em> </strike>
</p><p>
  <em> to the twisting ways undone</em>
</p><p>
  <em> and the selfnotself</em>
</p><p>
  <em> the Archivist </em>
</p><p>
  <em>had fed it</em>
</p><p>
  <em> had It known</em>
</p><p>
  <em> the </em>
</p><p>
  <em>truefalse </em>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>Joy</em>                                                                                                                                         of</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>                               terrible</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Making</em>
</p><p>
  <strike> Its smile is agony, it stretches so wide and sharp and crooked, and had It tears to find channels into what serve as Its eyes, It too, perhaps, would weep. Instead</strike>
</p>
<hr/><p>“I understand!” she lies, joyfully, eagerly. “I understand.”</p><p>She beams up at It is not What It is. “Thank you!”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>“I do not know!”</p>
<hr/><p>It nods, and closes Its Door.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Io vidi l'angelo nel marmo e scolpii fino a liberarlo.<br/>I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free<br/>- Quote attributed to Michaelangelo</p><p>Honey, where you been so long? is a line from a blues song of the same name sung by 'Ma' Rainey and recorded in 1924. Rainey's given name was Gertrude, which is a complete coincidence. Honest.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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